


The Sleepwalkers

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [20]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: A little bonus reveal about other characters just for you, Angst, Disordered Eating, F/F, Insomnia, M/M, this is the nerdiest fic i've ever written i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21705280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: For Ted, the nights are always the hardest.
Relationships: Michael Carter/Ted Kord, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282328
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	The Sleepwalkers

The Embassy is deathly quiet. A stillness so complete even the soft creak of Ted’s footfalls on the stairs seem piercing, thundering. He tries walking as softly as he can, naked feet easing down on each step in the dark, but slowing down makes every creak seem to stretch out, last longer, so he hurries instead. He's trying to recall who's on monitor duty tonight, whether they're someone who would investigate creaky footsteps on the stairs, but he reassures himself that even if he made a racket the noise wouldn't carry all the way to the monitor room.

Every step seems inevitable, unstoppable. He’s already disgusted with himself. It’s like he’s watching himself from the outside, robotically sneaking down the stairs, across the floor, towards the kitchen. He can’t stop himself. No inside force is strong enough, no inner argument convincing enough, to make him turn around, walk back to his room and try to fall asleep (or more likely, toss and turn for another few hours).

There’s leftover Chinese in the fridge, he knows that. A big tub of caramel pudding that three quarters full as well. Other sundries too, in the drawers -- ciabatta, müesli bars, fudge cookies. He doesn’t care, as long as there’s enough to make himself too full to think, until he’s gorged like a bear in the fall and his body is slow and sated, begging to fall asleep.

It's just so he can fall asleep.

He hates it. He’s absolutely disgusted by it, by himself. Ashamed. More than anything he’s ashamed. That he’s trapped in this cycle again, here, with all this work to do. But sleepless nights and troubled days have zapped his final defenses, have made him desperate enough to turn back to this, his old dirty tricks when the world is wrong and his body won’t do the things he wants it to. He first discovered this dirty indulgence in university, when the pressure of too many exams weighed on his chest at night, making it hard to breathe. What a terrible little trick it is.

At least with this torrent of shame his mind is occupied too, focusing his bad thoughts inwards, contained within himself, not thinking and rethinking about... other things. Even though every night he has to make his way past those two empty rooms. Scott's room, still full of his things, his little tools for tinkering still spread out on his desk, never to be touched by him again, and... Booster's room, so shockingly empty now, naked furniture that look so alien without his things on them, his mattress propped up against the wall.

Just the walk from his own room to the kitchen brings up emotions that are too overwhelming for half past two at night. Emotions that, too, needs to be quelled with comforting amounts of carbs and fat.

He approaches the kitchen, brimming with shame, and wonders idly who forgot to turn off the light in there.

Stepping in, he freezes in the doorway.

“Tora?”

She’s standing on her tippy toes in a cream blue nightgown, reaching into the cupboard above the sink. She spins around, wide eyed, knocking down several glass containers of spice into the sink, the clanging thundering through the room.

“Beetle!” She presses a palm against her chest. “Gosh, you scared me half to death!”

“I’m really sorry,” he says, hurrying to her side to help her pick up the containers in the sink. Thankfully none of them broke in the fall. He clumsily places them back on the shelf. “I just didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

“Same here,” she smiles, studying the labels as she puts them back up. “What did you come here for?”

He glances at the fridge, the shame glowing in his stomach. “I was thirsty,” he mutters. He’s surprised at the relief he feels now he's been derailed from his binge, but also there's a panic bunching in his chest. How’s he going to fall asleep _now?_

“I couldn’t sleep,” Tora sighs. “Been tossing and turning all night.”

“Something bothering you?” Ted looks at her, concerned. Scott's funeral was almost two weeks ago, and they still feel his absence. _His_ absence, too.

“No, no, I often have trouble sleeping,” she smiles, looking away. “I’m used to it. It might be the light, I don’t know.”

“The light?” He glances out the window into the pitch black alley outside.

“No midnight sun, silly,” she giggles, and Ted smiles at her in disbelief.

He really has a lot of affection for Tora.

“I’m making some spiced warm milk, that usually does the trick,” she continues, holding up a glass of cardamom. “I could make you some too, if you want.”

“Uh, sure.” He glances towards the fridge once more, and then back to Tora. “It doesn’t have sheep entrails or stuff like that in it, does it?” That Norwegian palate of hers could make the finest gourmet pale.

“I can drop the cod liver oil just this once,” she beams at him, and Ted smiles back, uncertain if that was a joke. 

“In that case,” he smiles at her. “Yes please. Do you want any help?”

“No, no, sit down,” she urges, picking down another three spices from the cupboard. “It’ll only take a moment.”

He pulls up a chair at the kitchen table, turning it so he can face Tora while resting an elbow on the table. He realizes suddenly he’s dressed only in a worn T-shirt with holes in it and his boxers, and becomes preoccupied trying to find a position that’s both modest and covers the worst holes in his shirt. 

Tora hums as she finds a carton of milk in the fridge and pours it into a pan. Her song seems to Ted like something you’d hear echoing over misty mountaintops and bouncing through birch-clad valleys. It's soothing like a lullaby. 

“No, don’t stop,” he urges quietly when she pauses, frowning in concentration as she measures spices in her hand. "I liked it."

“Don’t stop what?” she asks, not looking up.

“Your humming. It was a nice tune.”

“I was humming?” She looks over her shoulder at him, puzzled. “Oh, I guess I was."

"Not top 40, I'm guessing?" He leans back, scratching his neck. "Unless Aerosmith has drastically changed their sound."

"No, it’s just a silly old folk song my mother used to sing me to sleep with.” She stirs the milk, adding honey from a lidded glass. “I guess it keeps coming back to me when I’m having trouble sleeping.”

Ted fidgets, not wanting to delve on his own reasons for insomnia. “Are there lyrics?" he asks, wanting for Tora to keep talking. "Is it about something?”

“It’s about...” Tora looks up, probably translating in her head. “Two brothers, who decide to rescue a beautiful maiden guarded by one thousand five hundred giants.”

“That’s a lot of giants,” Ted remarks helpfully.

“I always thought so,” she smiles, not looking up.

There's a pause as she continues stirring in the honey.

"What happens?"

“Well," she casts a quizzical glance back at him. "These two brothers, they ride out towards the mountain where the maiden is held captive, but they have to cross a river of blood -- it's from all the other heroes who have tried and failed to rescue her before. The giants have been grinding their bodies up and --”

“Your...” Ted frowns and clears his throat. “Your _mom_ used to sing this to you? With the lyrics?”

“Uh huh,” Tora confirms cheerfully. “Since I was a baby. It’s kind of silly.”

“And then what?”

“Well, the elder brother is scared off by the river of blood and turns back, but the younger brother crosses it.” She stirs in a few more spoonfuls of honey. “Then he has to hack through a fence of swords, and on top of every sword is a decapitated head.”

“The failed heroes,” Ted mutters darkly, like a narrator in a radio show from the fifties.

“Oh no, these are giants’ heads.”

“Gia--?” Ted coughs, a little theatrically. Is it silly, an adult enjoying fairy tales at night? “Why would the giants kill giants?”

Tora shrugs. “Why do supervillains kill their own men?” 

“Fair point.”

Tora opens a drawer, producing a spoon. “Then he meets those 1500 giants and bravely slays them all with his sword.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Just like that.” Carefully she sips milks from the spoon, and moves the pan off the hot plate, seemingly satisfied. “And he finds the maiden and they ride back, but on the way home --”

“Wait, okay, there's more?” Ted asks, watching Tora pour the steaming milk into two mugs.

“Sure there is,” she smiles. “I’m sorry, I’m going on about this. You must be so bored.”

“No, no, it's interesting." He chuckles, accepting one of the mugs, gripping it, the heat against his palms weirdly comforting. "I’m just -- most stories I know would have ended there. So what happens on their way home?”

She finds a seat next to him, fine fingers curling around her own warm mug, hunching over it, breathing in the scent. “Well... On the way home they stop to rest, but the maiden’s father and brothers have come riding after them, wanting to stop him.”

“So -- wait,” Ted frowns into his mug. “Were they captives of the giants too? Or did they, uh, did they collude with the giants all along?” He drums his fingers on the table. “Some kind of nefarious human-giant alliance?”

Tora giggles. “The song doesn’t say." She looks at him. When she sees the incredulous look on his face she continues: "I used to think maybe they’ve been missing her all these years, dying to see her again, and then comes this man and finally rescues her, but now she’s _his_ property and they immediately head to _his_ home, not hers.” She tilts her head, studying the specks of cinnamon swirling around in her milk. “Like all that’s changed is that now she’s his captive instead of the giants’.”

Ted studies her, surprised, while Tora still calmly observes the swirl of cinnamon. She looks distant, melancholy, quite unlike the Tora he’s used to. He can’t think of anything to say.

“Anyway --” she blinks, and in a flash she’s bright, happy Tora again. She looks up. “They catch up and there’s a big fight, and before they escape the man kills the maiden’s youngest brother. The little brother kills her little brother, see? And of course she’s distraught, but they make it home.”

“ _His_ home,” Ted mutters, meeting her gaze.

“His home." She rolls her shoulders and takes a sip. "He orders his sisters to make their bed. But the next morning...” She taps her fingernails against the mug. “Both the man and the maiden are dead. The maiden put poison in their bed -- killed both herself and the hero. And when his mother finds them like that, she dies too, of a broken heart.”

Ted stares at her, at a loss for words. 

“The end,” she beams at him. “Drink your milk.”

“Again...” Ted mutters. “Your _mother_ used to sing this to you? When you were a kid?”

“Uh huh,” she says, taking a sip. “I used to beg her to. I called it 'the little brother song'.”

“And it put you right to sleep.” He remembers, then, what he's holding in his hands and takes a sip. There’s a flood of warm sweetness and spices in his mouth. It’s delicious. “Is that it? Did you use to conk out before she got to the horrible parts?”

“Oh no, I always knew the whole story,” she shrugs.

He drinks more, relishing the taste. “But what’s the _moral?”_

She regards him over the rim of the mug. “Does every story need to have a moral? 'Jack and Jill', does that have a moral?”

He chuckles. “I guess not, I just --" He licks his lips, spicy sweetness on his tongue, and smiles back at her. "But there's so much happening there. Why write a story about a hero who works his ass off and is finally killed for his troubles in a murder-suicide by a woman who doesn’t want him?”

Tora squints, and Ted sees the subtle bags under her eyes. Here they are, two insomniacs discussing fairy tales at night. She rolls her shoulders again. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Ted takes another sip. _Life’s a bitch and then you die_. Maybe that’s the truest moral of all. He hunches around his mug, finding a bitter satisfaction at last. That's it, isn't it? Just a story that tells it like it is. That life is a series of hardships and even when you think you’ve won, you’ve lost. Every bit of progress, every inch you climb higher only makes the inevitable plunge to the ground worse.

“Don’t you think he was happy, that final night?” she ponders quietly, sitting back. “Don’t you think he fell asleep with a sense of accomplishment he’d never felt before? He killed 1500 giants.”

Ted snorts. “I thought you sided with the maiden.”

She shrugs, not looking at him. “She was finally free to make a choice of her own. Free from the giants, free from her father and brothers. She chose to free herself this time, grisly as it is.” She exhales softly, a shy smile on her lips. “It’s not often the women in these stories get to make a choice at all. Maybe that’s why I liked this song so much.” She sits back, a playful snort escaping her. “Or maybe she had a _wonderful_ time with the giants and this man came and killed them all and stole her away. I don’t know.”

“I guess I prefer stories that are a little less open to interpretation,” Ted murmurs into his mug as he takes another sip.

“It’s how you look at it, I guess,” she muses, looking up at the dark window. “I like those stories because they're a way to... to look at little pieces of real life.”

“Except with decapitated giants and rivers of blood.”

“In a way,” she giggles. “I mean... life is pretty open to interpretation too.” She taps her fingernails against the mug. “Things happen and you have to try your best, and then maybe at the end you can look back and try to make sense out of it. Maybe there’s stuff you’ll never make sense out of at all.”

Something pricks in Ted’s chest. No sense at all, that's what keeps him up at night. “But that’s why we, we crave narratives, isn’t it?” Ted objects, feeling like he’s back debating Dan at the university. That's how he spent those sleepless nights then, when he wasn't binging midnight snacks. “We want those stories where things _make_ sense, where the hero lives happily ever after with the girl. Love conquers all, that kind of bull." He gestures in the air for emphasis. "That's the gist, isn't it? Like, 'hey, I want a _break_ from my horrible fucked-up life'.”

Tora looks up, puzzled. 

“I’m sorry,” Ted murmurs abruptly before she can say anything. “I don't know why I'm getting worked up. I know you like that story.” He looks down at his hands and is surprised to find them trembling, so he folds them hard around his mug to conceal it. "I'm sorry," he mutters again. 

“What’s bothering you, Beetle?” She tilts her head, leaning forward, trying to meet his gaze. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, looking down at his hands. “Let’s talk more about the story. The song.” He looks up and tries to smile. "That's right, it's a song. Wanna sing a verse or two for me? In, in Norwegian, or Norse, or whatever it's meant to be in."

"I don't feel like singing," she sighs, sitting back on her chair. Studying him. "Is it about Scott?"

"No, it's not about Scott." He fidgets, uncertain if it's about Scott or not. There's just been too many abrupt changes lately, right? Their team dwindling, putting more pressure on the remaining members. It's just the pressure.

"We all miss him."

"It's not about Scott," he repeats, like saying it makes it more true.

"Booster, then?” Her voice is soft. “How he left.”

He swallows, hard, and takes another sip so he doesn’t have to answer.

“It's only natural you miss him more than most, Beetle.”

“No, actually I -- I _can't stand_ him.” He tries to chuckle, remove some of the edge, but it comes out like a weird exhale. Just walking out on them like that, doing his slimy little song and dance at Scott's funeral to recruit members to his vanity project. There's not a decent bone in Booster's body, he knows that now. “He's not worth even discussing."

“Sounds disorienting," she replies gently. "Having your feelings about someone change so drastically in such a short time," 

Ted fidgets, not wanting to think about how he used to feel about Booster. Whatever that was. A crush. A weird little hormonal burst of lust after too many years of incidental celibacy. “Sounds like you think I’m the bad guy.”

“I don’t, Beetle.” She reaches out her hand, fingertips touching his arm.

He sits back, away from her touch. “Yeah, I don’t need your pity either,” he grunts.

“Lay off, Ted.” 

They both spin around at the sound of that third voice, gazes reaching the entrance to the kitchen, where Bea is standing in a bright pink T-shirt down to her mid-thighs, green hair a mess. She leans against the door frame, arms crossed, regarding Ted.

“Bea!” Tora smiles. “What are you doing up?”

“There was a noise like something was tearing the house down, woke me up," she shrugs.

Tora glances towards the cupboard. “Yes, I knocked some things into the sink, I’m sorry for the noise.”

Ted watches Bea with suspicion. “That happened ages ago, though. You’ve been standing there all this time?”

“No, _boco_.” Bea walks past, flicking Ted’s ear in passing. “I was just drifting off to sleep again when I smelled something really nice and had to investigate.” She stands next to Tora, looking down at her, and gently brushes a lock of Tora’s hair behind her ear. “And I noticed you weren't in your room. Trouble sleeping again?”

Tora shrugs with a smile. “Same as usual.”

“You don’t have to sit up all night comforting Mister Heartache over here, you know.”

“Bea,” Ted admonishes her in a low voice, a little worried what she might say next. She promised she wouldn't tell Tora, but they're close enough things like that could slip out in a moment of thoughtlessness. “What happened to being on _my_ side, huh?”

“I _am_ on your side.” Bea finds another mug on the shelf and pours the remainder of the hot milk in the pot into it. “That means I tell you when you’re being a jerk moping around and being rude to your friends.”

Ted sighs, taking another sip. Point taken. He’s been so busy trying to build up his defenses again, getting his spikes out, he hasn’t cared about who’s been poked in the process. “Fine,” he mutters, not meeting her gaze. "Sorry, Tora.”

"It's fine." Tora smiles back at him.

“I really think you should try to reach out to him, you know.” Bea finds a chair next to Tora, crossing her long legs. “You apologize for your shit and he can apologize for his shit.”

Ted exhales through his nose, not looking up. “We’re not gonna discuss this now.”

“Why not?”

Ted gives her a look, quickly glancing meaningfully to Tora and back to Bea.

“If she has to sit up all night with you crying on her shoulder,” Bea smirks, taking a sip. “She should at least know what the crying’s all about.”

“We were just talking about songs, _vennen_.” Tora trails a gentle hand down Bea's tan shoulder. “Honestly.”

“Beetle,” Bea urges quietly. “Wouldn't it be easier to just tell? Look at her, she’s not even curious about what I’m talking about.”

Ted lifts his mug to his lips, but his hands are trembling again, he can’t quite guide it to his mouth. He sets the dark blue mug down, staring at it. It's all in the past, anyway. And he trusts Tora more than many others. Maybe it's the exhaustion of not sleeping, but telling her something that isn't even the case anymore seems... Easier than before.

“Fine.” He takes a deep, uneven breath, trying to find the words as he looks up, frowning. “So, uh." With Bea, she'd already sussed out most of it. Tora probably doesn't have the first clue. "The -- the truth is, Tora... Me and Booster --” _It's all in the past, it's not even true anymore_. “We, uh.... We....” He swallows, his tongue feeling numb in spite of the spices, and he frowns at the mug on the table. “We were, uh, _together_. Before... this happened.”

He looks up, his face burning, and can tell from Tora’s confused expression she has no idea what he’s talking about. He can see Bea behind her, rolling her eyes.

“I mean, we --” _Shit_. How does one say a thing like that? “We started -- that is, first he told me that he -- I --”

“Oh my _God_ , Beetle,” Bea giggles, leaning over the table, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. 

He looks at her, panicked. _Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say something crass._

"Tora," Bea grins, though her voice is soft. "The blushing Beetle here and Booster, they were in a relationship. They were like you and me."

“A relationship?” Tora repeats, puzzled.

Ted looks up, coughing. "Wait, what?"

“A romantic one.” Bea flashes Ted a smile, whose sleep starved brain is suddenly working very hard. “They were _dating._ ”

"Hang on." Ted leans over the table. " _You_ two?"

"Uh huh," Tora smiles. 

Bea laughs. "I thought you figured it out ages ago." She winks at him. "But I guess you were too preoccupied with Booster to notice."

" _You_ _two_ ," Ted repeats dumbfounded. Fire and Ice, hooking up. Sure, they've always been close, always been touchy, the way girls are with their friends. It's so different for women.

"And you and Booster," Tora grins at him. "That's wonderful, Beetle, I'm really --" As Bea gives her a look the smile on Tora's face fades. " _Oh._ Oh, that's why --"

Ted slowly exhales through his nose, picking up the mug again in absence of something else to do. It's got a little bright blue snowman on it. Where on earth did this mug come from? Then he looks up wanting to speak, explain, but all he can manage is a choked “...Yeah.”

“That’s too bad,” Tora tells him earnestly. “I’m sorry.”

Bea looks at him. “So he still hasn’t --?”

“No, and I don’t fucking care,” Ted snorts, too quickly, too prickly. It’s easier to channel the anger, anyway. It doesn't leave him open, exposed. “He’s off doing his own thing, it's not like he has a reason to talk to any of us.” _Least of all me, apparently._

Not a single fucking word, where he’s staying, what he’s doing, nothing. A few TV appearances with that Montgomery lady, Max’ ex wife, drumming up expectations for some kind of super team. _Advertising_ , Booster’s forte.

“You two had a pretty big blowup, Beetle." Bea takes a sip. “Maybe it’s good to... you know, cool down.”

Maybe it would have been a good idea, cooling down, if that was all this was. So one of them could have taken a vacation somewhere, some time off, something _temporary_.

It was Booster who went for the nuclear option with no warning.

“If he thinks this is the way to make me less angry he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought.” Ted wipes his hand down his face, feeling that exhaustion in every pore. “And if you think picking my brain about it is going to fix this --”

“See, there you go again,” Bea groans, sitting back. “You can’t fight him, so you pick a fight with whoever’s nearby. Wasn't that punch you landed on him at the funeral enough?"

“I don’t understand why I’m the only one who’s pissed off here,” Ted objects. “He ditched you too, you know.”

“Fine, it was a really dumb way to go about it.” Bea meets his gaze and blows a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “He quit the League in the most unnecessary way short of, I don’t know, joining the Legion of Doom.” She tilts her head. “And trying to recruit heroes at Scott's funeral was... more than a little tactless. We're agreed on that. Does that make you happy?”

Ted takes a little sip, noting that the milk is getting cold already. “A little,” he murmurs. 

“So he’s pissed _you_ off, you’ve pissed _him_ off.”

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Ted grunts.

Bea gives him a look. "I'm not gonna sit here and figure it all out for you, Ted. I don't know which one's right or wrong, I'm just saying..." She snorts. “You’re gonna have to talk to each other at some point.”

Ted looks away, exhaling through his nose. He can't believe he's having this conversation. All he wanted were some snacks.

“You talk, and...” Bea sighs, shrugging. “If you’re through, you’re through. You can be brokenhearted then. It’s this moping and second-guessing Booster's motives I can't fucking stand.” She lets her head loll back to display her frustration, sighing deeply at the ceiling. 

“If it's that easy, he could just come here, right?" Ted drums his fingers on the table. "He knows where I live.”

Bea leans across the table, a spark of frustration in her eyes. “Or you can just put on your big boy pants and go talk to him!”

“I don’t know where he is!" Ted hisses back, refusing to stand down. "No one knows!”

“I do,” Tora announces brightly.

Both Ted and Bea stare at her.

“When those movers came to pick up his things." She grins. "I chatted with one of them, very nice man, family hails from Stavanger, we discussed how hard it is to get real goat cheese that doesn’t cost a bunch, it’s really hard to find in this city outside of --”

“Tora,” Bea interjects gently. “The point, please.”

“I asked him where they were delivering Booster’s things and he told me.” She shrugs, looking from Bea to Ted. “Ophelia Gardens, that new housing complex near Wall street.”

Bea whistles in surprise. “Oh, swanky place.” She pats Tora’s shoulder affectionately. “And still in New York. Good job, sweetheart.”

Ted stares into his almost empty mug, stewing. So _that’s_ the high life Booster’s living now, is it? Big brand new apartment, among the fat cat elite, the rich and famous.

_The fucking hypocrite._

“So we know where he lives,” Bea says, looking at Ted. “Now you know where to get hold of him.”

“Yeah, I’ll just come crawling to his door, shall I?” Ted hisses. “Not in a million years.”

“Ted, come on --”

“I can’t sit here all night with this, this, girl’s sleepover.” He shoots Bea a look. “I’m heading to bed.” Mentally he flinches at the though, walking up those stairs, through that hallway, past those empty room. He hates how there’s a cold sharp ache inside him whenever he’s near that door across the hall from him. How he can’t stop himself from listening, expecting to hear corny oldies playing or Booster's quiet giggling as he reads comic books.

“Ted,” Bea fixes him with a stare. “You really think stewing in loneliness and misery’s gonna solve anything?”

“There’s nothing to solve,” Ted mutters, getting up. “Sometimes people aren’t who you think they are.” _Sometimes that person is yourself._

Bea groans. “You knuckleheads had your first fight and you’re just gonna call it quits?”

 _“He_ called it quits!” Ted bursts out, too loud in the still of the night. _“He’s_ the one who fucked off and didn’t even deign to leave a return address,” he adds, quieter. Even saying it feels too naked, vulnerable. Because he can hear it in his own voice, how upset he is, how hurt. Some of that angry veneer is wearing away the longer they discuss this, showing the pain underneath.

Bea frowns. “Yeah, and now you’re both gonna sit in your respective holes and be proud and miserable and invent all sorts of horrible things about each other.”

“This isn’t just about him quitting and disappearing, you know that?” Ted sighs, weary. “It’s not just, just one thing, there’s apparently -- a billion things, with him, with me, and I don’t know --” He massages the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it was just a, a matter of time before all the differences in us would come to a head, we were just too, too --”

_Excited? Carried away? Naive?_

_In love?_

“--Stupid to see it coming,” he mutters.

If they met, where would they even start? Ted keeps thinking back to their collision at the funeral, their fights, every insecurity, every annoyance stacking on top of each other. A fight about a resort, building and building into something impossibly unwieldy, a Gordian knot of frustrations.

Bea looks at him, sighing. “I know it’s hard for you to talk about this stuff, Beetle." She puts her own mug on the table and sits back, looking a little tired herself. "But I'm happy that you're trying to. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna tell you when you're being a bonehead about it.”

“Sure,” he mutters, unable to meet her eyes. “Now, okay, look I’m -- I’m really tired.” Tired of this job, this place. Himself, most of all.

“Okay,” Bea murmurs gently. “So go to bed.”

“Yeah, I’m -- Tora.” He looks at her, like he’s suddenly realized she’s there. She’s been so quiet, like she tends to be. “Just remember that, uh, no one knows about this. Please don’t tell anyone about --”

“I won’t, Beetle,” she yawns and smiles a groggy smile. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” He wants to sleep. Sleep and not be so aware of himself any more. But he turns, looking at her. “What do _you_ think I should -- What do you think about all this?”

“I don’t know, Beetle,” she sighs, still smiling gently. 

“Hm,” Ted adds, just to say something.

“But somehow it does make me think about --” She stops and chuckles softly. “About the song.”

“The --" Ted yawns. "Yeah?”

“What song?” Bea scratches the back of her head.

“Like how it starts with these two brothers," Tora says, not minding Bea. "How they both set out to rescue the maiden but the older one turns back right away?”

“From the sound of it I think he dodged a bullet,” Ted smirks.

“Maybe,” she giggles. “But, you know, he’s never mentioned again after that.”

Ted quells a yawn again, looking at her.

“And maybe his younger brother did all that work for nothing, but they wrote a song about him, he changed so much even if it wasn’t always for the better. He did his best.”

Ted makes a face. "What difference did his best make when all he did --"

“But his big brother, he gave up. He never even tried,” she looks down at her hands. “They even say it in the song, you know: 'There's no shame greater than setting out on a journey and not daring to end it anywhere.'" She looks up at him, a strange look on her face. "So that's it for him. That’s where his story ends.” She chews on her lip. “Maybe he could have been the main character, you know? Maybe he would have fared better than his brother, maybe he could have turned the tragedy around."

Ted looks at her.

"But we’ll never know, because he didn’t even dare to try.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remember you can [VOTE](https://strawpoll.com/4xzwbygd) for what kind of silly shenanigans I should write for Booster and Ted once this arc is concluded!
> 
> Listen, you're reading fics made by a Norwegian with a degree in medieval history and a lifelong obsession with folklore. This arc is depressing even me so until I get to write the sexy self indulgent stuff you get the nerdy self indulgent stuff.
> 
> Tora's folk song is indeed real and from the Middle Ages, usually titled 'Storebror og lillebror' ("big brother and little brother") and is cataloged as giant-ballad TSB-E-64. As most folk songs there are a ton of variations in both text and melody, so I've copypasted some plot points from different versions but they're all legit. 
> 
> **[Song:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
>  Storebroer og lillebroer - Blåmann Blåmann (just one version but my favourite melody for this song)  
> The sleepwalkers - Level 42


End file.
